The Game: A Farewell
by Noisseau
Summary: Holmes and Russell prepare to divide forces during their case, but they cannot part without expressing thier feelings......


It was decided.

Captain Nesbit busied himself with the bottle of brandy as Holmes and I turned to look at one another. The time had come to divide our forces, and it proved to be no easier than in previous experience.

We, all three, rose as one and moved out of the fire-lit room into a dim corridor of the Viceregal Lodge. My husband and I seemed to gravitate to one another, and it took only one pointed look from Holmes to send Jeffrey Nesbit away to see to my accommodations.

For this short space of time, I could only have eyes for Holmes. He was exotically seductive, with his swarthy skin, salt-and-pepper beard, and piercing gray eyes. It had been surprisingly difficult in the last week of our play-acting not to touch him. My hand had crept toward his body as if drawn by a magnet countless times, before I'd had time to remind myself of our strict gender roles. I was a man, his younger brother, as it were, and it would have been highly inappropriate to give in to my sudden impulses involving his thin lips, his brief Muslim cap, and the inadequacy of our undergarments. That was not even taking into account what Bindra might have thought of his companions' sudden exodus into their thinly clad and less than sound-proof canvas tent.

It had been a bit grueling, but we'd managed it well enough. Holmes' eyes upon me had caused several brief flashes of heat to climb into my cheeks, but that could be explained by India's extreme climate. My returned gaze had brought a few moments of uncomfortable shifting about in his seated or standing position, but our flowing garments hid a myriad of sins.

There was no hiding now, however. We were to be parted, perhaps for a long while, and it required a certain emotional response from the both of us that we'd managed to avoid for entirely too long.

His eyes were so focused and intent, that I knew he was seeing well beyond my native guise, seeing my long blond hair flowing free and my body clad in unnamable diaphanous material. Holmes could make me feel both naked and without shame without any obvious effort. His gaze was unseemly, that was all there was to it.

When we touched, it was electric. His fingertips slid smoothly along my cheek before his hand curled possessively around the nape of my neck. Before I knew what I was about, our lips were pressing urgently together and my body was pulled flush against his. The many layers of our costumes were suddenly an unbelievable vexation to me as I felt my husband harden against me.

There was no time. There never seemed to be much time for such "non-essentials" when we were on a case. But, oh, how I wanted him! I needed most to feel him, alive and surrounding me, to imprint the shape of his body within my own skin, as a kind of talisman against the danger we would inevitably face.

Holmes fumbled about with my turban until he had loosed the end and could sweep it off of my head with one long-fingered hand. Then, his clever fingers found their way, over and under many layers of clothing until they could slide smoothly into the wetness our intense eye contact had created.

I couldn't help throwing my head back and moaning with the intense pleasure of his long-absent touch. Naturally, Holmes took the opportunity to dip his sleek head into the curve of my throat and lavish it with the attentions of his mouth. The combination of his teeth scraping along my clavicle and his fingers plunging into me had me startlingly close to orgasm already.

"Holmes," I whispered urgently through my panting breath. "Perhaps we might take this somewhere a bit more private!"

Dragging his tongue up the column of my throat and never ceasing the intimate movements of his hand, he husked into my ear, "Back into the sitting room, I think." His voice was deep and rough with the crackling tension between us, and it came to me amid the fog in my brain that the feel of those tones slipping languidly over me was positively indecent. The man could reduce me to a quivering mass merely with the sound of his voice.

With one final loving caress, my husband withdrew his pleasuring hand and we tumbled back through the door. As I closed and locked it hastily, I saw Holmes busily licking the fingers of his right hand clean, pleasure at the taste written clearly across his hawkish features. He met my avid gaze, his eyes half-lidded and his pupils dilated hugely, and smiled, catlike and predatory.

Unable to restrain my unbearable desire to be in his arms, I threw myself at him, my long blond hair billowing out behind me like a golden cloud. Holmes caught me with a grunt and wasted no time in resuming his ardent plundering of my mouth. His kisses were possessive and slightly frantic as he moved us inexorably back toward the wall next to the locked door.

Running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, I reveled in the slight tickle of his neat beard as he blazed a trail down my throat and lower. My breasts were strapped to add verisimilitude to my male disguise, but my husband's long fingers made quick work of the obstacle, and I was soon free and bared to his hot gaze. Though I was sure it could not be appetizing after so long without bathing, I could not help but be gratified by the way Holmes hungrily attacked my breasts, swooping down to wrap his lips around one hard nipple while his free hand tweaked the other, sending an electric jolt straight to my loins.

And then I couldn't think at all, the joyous buzz of pleasure suffusing my whole body until there was room for nothing else. I simply clutched at his head and shoulders, trying desperately to draw his body closer to mine.

I was dimly aware of his fingers fumbling uncharacteristically at the drawstring of my trousers, and then of the cool rush of air over my lower half as he found success. With an unerring sense of direction, my husband's hand found its way to the center of my pleasure and began rubbing in measured strokes until I was moaning continuously and biting my lip to hold back my screams. "Holmes," I gasped, feeling as if I could not draw in enough oxygen. "Now, Holmes. Please! I have no desire to wait any longer to feel you inside me."

His tousled head came up and he gave me a piercing look, our noses brushing together and our laboured breath mingling in the small space between. "As usual, you speak my very thoughts, dear wife," he murmured before bringing his mouth down hard to meet mine and pressing his body full-length against me.

As if by unspoken agreement, it was I who slid my ardent hands down his smooth flanks, pausing to caress the hard muscle hiding beneath his rough shirt, and around front to undo his trouser fastenings. He wore no undergarments, it being unusual for an Indian native to do so, and I needed only to shove the cloth down his slim hips in order to free the rigid length beneath. My hands moved instinctively to grasp it, stroking him with a firm pressure that drew a choked gasp from Holmes. I watched eagerly as his eyes rolled back in his head and a ruddy flush crept up his swarthy cheeks.

"God, Russell!" he groaned explosively. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was distinctly feral, almost wild. "You will be the death of me, woman," he breathed hoarsely, then rapidly reached down to grasp me by the thighs and lifted me until I could hook my legs over his hips, crossing my ankles hurriedly at the small of his back.

I gasped and braced my hands against his rippling shoulders to steady myself, then gasped again, much more sharply, as without another word, Holmes plunged into me. We both groaned our delight with some abandon as he sank in to the hilt.

It was like coming home. It was like some part of me had been crying out to be filled, ever since we'd disembarked from the ship, and now that it was filled, I felt like a whole person again.

It was certainly not our usual method of coupling, against a wall and in haste, but the abnormality seemed only to add to our excitement.

Our gazes locked as he began to move, pulling almost all the way out and then plunging in again. My fingers caressed his much-loved face of their own accord, then raked their nails lightly over his scalp, and I grinned delightedly as he shivered.

Apparently unsatisfied that I was even marginally coherent, Holmes adjusted his hands on my rear, tilting my hips a fraction further toward him.

And then I was screaming, a wave of ecstasy slamming into me, triggered by my husband's fortuitous probing. Hurriedly, Holmes covered my lips with his own, stifling my wanton cries, and picked up his pace a bit, driving into me relentlessly.

I knew very well what his goal was, and that he would not vary his course one iota until he had achieved it, reducing me to mindless writhing and a thunderous climax. My husband was as single-minded and thorough in his marital duties as he was on any case, I'd been happy to discover.

Holmes was moving more and more erratically, so I knew he was very close to losing control, but he continued to stare into my face with steely determination, though the muscles in his jaw jumped and rippled and sweat beaded his brow. I could feel my own body hurtling toward that longed-for precipice at an exceptional rate as he pounded into me, my finger nails digging involuntarily into his back and shoulders as the waves of sensation threatened to overwhelm me.

And then, they did.

Holmes reached a particularly deep place inside of me with one hard thrust and at the same time bent his head to sink his teeth into the flesh joining my neck and shoulder. And I simply came apart. The ripples of delight became a gushing torrent, and I clung desperately to him, my limbs shaking and my torso bowing with the force of my internal contractions around him. It was ecstasy, as it had always been with him, and I never grew tired of the sensations his body could call forth from mine.

The knowledge that he would soon be leaving me and walking into possible danger without my protection leant a strangely poignant edge to our joining.

My husband continued to move, drawing out my climax for as long as possible. When I was again able to open my eyes, shudders of pleasure still coursing through my body, I saw from the rigid set of his shoulders and hitching breath that he was very close himself to hurtling over the cliff after me. Framing his face with trembling hands, I whispered, "Let go for me, husband."

He eyes grew impossibly darker, and he crushed his mouth to mine and began to move frantically within me. His teeth scraped my lips roughly and his hands clutched me to him almost painfully, but I reveled in his passionate abandon, joyed in the fact that I could shatter his reserve so completely.

It was only a matter of moments before his strangled groan filled my mouth, and he stilled, his body jerking with his release, every muscle tensing. Holmes threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and struggled to draw breath as the exquisite sensations washed over him. I caressed the corded muscles of his neck and chest soothingly as the warmth of his emission filled me, and felt a satisfied smile stretching my abused lips as I watched him.

Holmes was beautiful when in the throes of passion, I decided, though I doubted I could ever tell him so. All long, lithe limbs and hard muscle, ecstasy slackening his angular features.

When he finally came down, Holmes unexpectedly buried his face in the crook of my shoulder and removed one hand from my rear to wrap his arm tightly about me. "Ah, Russ," he sighed as I stroked his thinning hair and squeezed his shoulders to me.

Dropping a soft kiss behind his nearest ear, I murmured in a voice slurring with satiation, "What is it, husband?"

With a parting caress of his lips over the various love-bites I was sure peppered the skin of my neck and shoulder, he raised his head to meet my heavy-lidded eyes. Giving me a small, rueful smile, he replied, "Nothing in particular, my dear. I merely find myself singularly reluctant to be parted from my young wife." He chuckled mirthlessly as he helped me lower my wobbly legs to the floor, holding me upright as I regained some sense of balance.

"I could tell," I said simply, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips.

My husband's gray eyes roved over my face hungrily, seemingly not able to get their fill, even after his body's satiation. His long hands came up to stroke my face, his thumbs brushing gently across brow and cheekbones as my own hands settled on his naked hips. "I love you, Russell," he murmured and lowered his lips to mine, gentle caress now rather than heated exploration.

I was a bit startled, since Holmes rarely voiced the words that had come to shape our lives. A warm glow grew in my chest, suffusing my body and joining seamlessly with my post-coital languor until I felt almost *too* alive. "And I, you," I replied with feeling as he drew back.

With one last brush of his lips against my forehead, we set about re-clothing ourselves, helping one another adjust salwar kameez and turban, and generally trying to make it look as if we had *not* just ravished one another against a Government House sitting room wall. A week on the road had already given us a disreputable air of dishevelment, so the pretense wasn't too difficult.

As we walked hand in hand down the corridor toward duty, words somehow seemed superfluous. Everything that needed saying had been said, whether by our mouths or our bodies. We were in one accord, as always, and the danger we willingly accepted had no power to detract from that unity.

We met Jeffrey Nesbit and parted, the solace of our coupling lingering in our gazes.

I would meet him again soon, in mind and body.

There could be no other option.


End file.
